Gone Today, Hero Tomorrow
by whitetiger91
Summary: After Cedric's death, returning to work is hard for Amos Diggory. Finding out that his friend and boss, Cornelius Fudge, refuses to acknowledge it properly is even harder. All he wants is for things to go back to normal, and that includes achieving his dream of honouring Cedric's memory and heroism.


**_A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 2, Round 7._**

 ** _House: Gryffindor_**

 ** _Position: Year 3_**

 ** _Category: Short (Additional)_**

 ** _Prompts: 2. [Speech] "I miss moments like this more than anything." 3. [Speech] "You have no power over me." "You sure about that?" 7. [Prompt] Dreams do not work unless you do._**

 ** _Word count: 1982 words (according to Google docs)_**

 ** _Betas: Thank you to CK (Theoretical-Optimist) for_ _beta'ing_ _:)_**

 _ **Other: I've always wondered how Amos Diggory felt when Fudge denied Voldemort's return; it always seemed like a bit of a slap in the face, especially since they were colleagues. This is my (very short) take on what happened. It is AU as we don't know for sure what did happen (Cursed Child aside), and I made up Mrs Diggory's name. It is also AU in the sense that I've made the Diggorys poorer than they appeared in the books (mainly because I secretly think the Diggorys were even kinder and more modest when they let Harry have the Tournament prize winnings). I also understand that it was Wormtail who actually killed Cedric/ carried out the order; Amos simply refers to Voldemort as his murderer as he did order it and was pretty much the reason it happened (as opposed to Wormtail's own initiative). He thinks of his son, too, as a hero, in the sense that he believed his son was always kind and chivalrous, especially during the end of the tournament.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy this story, and thank you for taking the time to read it!**_

* * *

 **Gone Today, Hero Tomorrow**

 _He knew it would be hard, but not this hard._

Amos turned his eyes from the wooden photo frame on his desk to the mound of parchment in front of him. Most of it was just minor things no one else in the department wanted, but it was keeping him busy and distracting him from his grief.

A knock sounded at the door, causing him to sigh. Didn't they know he just wanted a little bit of normalcy?

"So the rumours are true; you are back," Arnold Peasegood said, strolling into the office.

Amos turned to him and plastered a smile on his face. "It would seem so."

Arnold shuffled from foot to foot. "Yes, well, it's just… I thought you wouldn't come back after your son—after what happened."

His smile felt more strained, and he turned back to his desk. Glancing at the photo frame again, Amos' heart ached as he took in his son's smiling face. The photograph had been taken a year earlier at the Quidditch World Cup. He and Cedric were posed in front of their tent, their brown eyes crinkled with amusement as they held up large novelty leprechaun hats. They had both been so happy then, their futures so full of promise.

Clearing his throat, he picked up his quill. "Fiona wanted me to stay at home, too, but she and I both know we can't afford for me to retire just yet."

"Oh, er, right, sorry."

When he looked back up at Arnold, he saw that the man looked confused, just like everyone had when they had seen him strolling through the Ministry corridors that morning. None of them seemed to understand why he was back; that was probably to be expected, though, since none of them had ever lost a child.

Sighing again, Amos held up the parchment in his hand, showing the edits he had made to one of the documents. "I miss moments like this more than anything."

"What, scribbling on Wimple's dodgy leaflets?"

"Feeling like a normal person. It may be boring, but I'd take boring any day rather than facing… well, you know." Amos fixed his eyes on Arnold, not caring if they were watery or not. "Don't take anything for granted, alright?"

He was grateful when Arnold didn't offer a cheesy line of false comfort. "I won't," he said.

"Good… Good."

The small office fell silent for a moment, and Amos turned back to his work. He crossed out a few misspellings on the draft, but it wasn't long before changing commas to semicolons faded from his mind and he found his eyes wandering back to the picture of his boy.

"He was a fine boy, your son. I'm sorry that his death isn't being recognised as it should. Between you and me, we all believe that You-Know-Who is back, no matter what Cornelius is saying."

Amos' head snapped up, and he stared at Arnold. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to talk out of turn. I just wanted you to know we supp—"

"No, not that. What's Cornelius saying?"

His heart was beating fast now, not liking the flash of anger he saw in Arnold's eyes. He had known that something was up with his boss when he had received a bouquet of flowers a few days after the funeral with nothing more than a quick, 'I'm sorry for your loss,' scrawled on a card by Cornelius' wife. Whilst he hadn't expected anything from anyone, Amos had been slightly confused why the man hadn't promised to do everything in his power to make sure no one else died by the hands of Vol—his son's killer.

"Haven't you been reading the papers? Cornelius and his little posse are refusing to believe that You-Know-Who has returned. The official story is that your boy died in a tragic accident during the Triwizard Tournament, and that the Potter boy is lying about what happened. I thought you knew but from the look on your face…"

Amos shook his head. There was no doubt in his mind that Cedric had been murdered; he had seen the haunted look within the Potter boy's eyes, had seen his son's blank gaze…

"Fiona and I have been avoiding reading the paper since it happened," he said, his voice hoarse.

Shaking his head again, he dropped his quill and steadied his hands against the desk. It was all a mistake; it had to be. Cornelius wouldn't degrade his son's death to an accident, not when the only comfort Amos had was that Cedric had achieved his dream of doing well in life, dying as a hero in the process.

* * *

 _He knew it would be hard, but not this hard._

"I'm sorry about your loss, I really am, but I'm afraid you've been misled. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is _not_ back. The Potter boy is nothing but a liar, and we all saw this morning how he clung to the foolish and self-indulgent testimonies of a Squib and a senile old man."

Amos stared into Cornelius Fudge's grey eyes, not quite able to believe what he was hearing.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied his trembling hands against the edge of Cornelius' desk. "I know you have misgivings about Harry Potter, but I'm telling you, he isn't lying and neither am I. Vol—You-Know-Who is back, and he killed my son. Will you honestly let your feelings towards Albus ruin Cedric's memory?"

A vein was pulsing in Cornelius' temple, and Amos watched as his face turned a bright red. He pointed a shaking finger in Amos' face and said, "It seems you are the one allowing your own feelings about Dumbledore to get in the way. Do you not remember how he favoured the Potter boy and neglected to help your son last year? Do you not realise that your son would probably still be alive if he deemed him important enough? Think about it, Amos, your boy Cecil would still be alive today if it weren't for Dumbledore's incompetency!"

Amos closed his eyes, his neck and face burning.

"Cedric," he said through gritted teeth. "My son's name is Cedric. And I'm telling you, You-Know— _Voldemort_ is back."

When he reopened his eyes, he saw that Cornelius was glaring at him, his nostrils flaring. He stared right back. It had been hard to say the name of his son's murderer, but this time, his reluctance wasn't out of fear.

They remained that way for a few moments before Cornelius sighed and sat down.

"Look, Amos…" he began, pressing his hands together. "I think that perhaps you might need more of a break than you thought. I heard that Fiona suggested you retire; maybe you should consider following through on that."

Amos opened and closed his mouth, the heat fading. "P-pardon?"

"Given how loyal you have been to the Ministry thus far, your payout will be quite handsome. It will be enough to provide you and Fiona with ample time to properly mourn your loss."

"I wasn't planning on—"

"Your position could be filled, so you don't need to worry about that, either," Cornelius said.

Amos took another deep breath, no longer recognising the man before him that he had once considered a friend. "You mean enough time to forget about spreading the truth about my son's murder?"

Cornelius' eyes narrowed. "Trust me, this is an offer you don't want to refuse."

"Is that so? I will not be retiring," Amos said, scraping back his chair.

"You seem to think you have a choice," Cornelius said, chuckling darkly.

"You have no power over me."

"You sure about that?"

Amos glared at the man for a second longer before walking to the door. Only when he slammed it behind him did he allow his face to crumble, realising that his dream of honouring his son's memory would be much harder than he thought.

* * *

 _He knew it would be hard, but not this hard._

Amos kept his head down as he walked through the corridors towards his office, this time, not because the whispers were about his return. Since their meeting two months earlier, Cornelius had managed to convince most of the Ministry to ignore his claims that You-Know-Who was back. Whilst he still got some sympathetic looks, most were because they believed the Minister's claims that Amos was going crazy with his grief and clutching onto straws.

When he stepped into his office, he knew it would only be worse.

Sure enough, as he opened his door, he saw several letters scattered over his desk, including the usual red envelopes. Sighing, he sat down, ignoring the Howlers. Part of him missed the pamphlets advertising tropical getaways that had originally been sent to his office every day.

"I'm sorry, Cedric, I tried," he said, trailing a finger over his son's photograph.

Amos could've sworn that the boy nodded slightly, a sign that he understood he was trying his best to make sure everyone knew his death wasn't just a tragic accident.

Or perhaps it was a sign that he really was going mad.

Running his hand through his thinning brown hair, he picked up a cream envelope. It felt heavy, and as he opened it, he saw that it was weighed down with a few Galleons, accompanied by a single slip of paper.

 _There's more where that came from. Don't wait too long to make the right decision._

Amos scrunched up Cornelius' note and tossed it in the wastepaper basket. He took out a quill to write his usual rejection reply but found himself staring at the gold. He and Fiona needed the money, especially after they had given the Potter boy their son's prize winnings. He could see Fiona was struggling to cope with the loss of Cedric, the bags under her eyes becoming more prominent with each day. Perhaps it was time to consider setting up a new life somewhere else and focus on healing each other. After all, _they_ both knew that Cedric was a hero, which was the most important thing, wasn't it?

Besides, Cornelius was right; he did seem to have power over Amos, and that much became clear as another red envelope sailed through his office and landed on his desk.

"Sorry, Amos, I did try to catch it before it came through," Arnold said from the doorway, leaning over to catch his breath. Even so, there was a large smile on his face, and he held up a copy of _The Quibbler_. "I think you might want to read this first, though."

Amos sighed as Arnold walked over to his desk. The man was one of the few people who didn't seem to be cowed by Cornelius' influence, and the knowledge that he read such an unusual magazine didn't make that fact any better.

"I don't particularly feel like reading about… er, what's a Nargle?" he asked.

Arnold shook his head, flipping to a different page. "No, no, not that junk; read this."

Taking the magazine, Amos scanned the page, his eyes growing wide. It was an interview with Rita Skeeter and Harry Potter, explaining that You-Know-Who really was back, and more importantly, the truth regarding his son's death.

"Copies have already sold out. You should hear the talk down in Muggle Relations; Cornelius is fuming hearing them praising it."

Amos read the article again just to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting it. With watery eyes, he looked back up at Arnold, whose own eyes had now softened.

"Don't give up, Amos; the truth is out, and it will only be a matter of time before more people start believing it."

For the first time since his return, Amos smiled—a genuine smile—his heart full of fresh hope. He couldn't give up on his dream, not now.

"Tell me, do you think Miss Skeeter will take another interview?" he asked.

Arnold returned his grin. "I have her address right here."


End file.
